


The Reynaulthology

by Ladaa Rehn (GlobalCooldown)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Anthology of Short Fics, Character Study, Destiny 2, Destiny Lore, Dirty Jokes, Drabble Collection, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not About the Player Character At All, Platonic Cuddling, Playing with Lore, Poor Life Choices, Zavala is like a father figure but also senpai it's weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlobalCooldown/pseuds/Ladaa%20Rehn
Summary: A collection of drabbles about a dumb Titan who thinks he's funny and his timid Ghost. If you follow the chevalier-on-the-wall Destiny roleplaying Tumblr, you've seen a lot of these stories.





	1. Yorick

**Author's Note:**

> I am so very bad at AO3. But here we are. We're doing this. Posting fics. Right here.
> 
> This collection starts during Destiny 1's Age of Triumph and continues through Destiny 2. Unlike on Tumblr, I'll be posting these drabbles in chronological order here.
> 
> So without further ado, let's start at the very beginning, during the Age of Triumph....

Seven more bodies in the old hotel’s lobby. None of them would do.

The Ghost glided up the dilapidated elevator shaft, the light from his solitary blue eye straining to pierce the dusty darkness, emitting a whisper-soft “Heeeere, Guardian, Guardian, Guardian….”

Three bodies on the second floor. None of them would do.

Between the constant Cosmodrome skirmishes and the SIVA fiasco, the Fallen on this planet were hard-pressed to keep up the fight. Their numbers were thinning around previously heavily-controlled areas. To most, this region was a footnote; the Vanguard had neither the Guardians nor the motive to assign patrols out here. They were too busy puzzling over burnt banners and expecting the worst.

Five bodies on the third floor. None of them would do.

The calm before the storm was an opportunity for a few, though. The brave. The foolish. The desperate. Like a Ghost who, after all this time, still hadn’t found his Guardian.

Two bodies on the fourth floor. None of them would do.

No bodies on the fifth floor.

No bodies on the sixth floor.

“I guess they were all rushing to get out,” the Ghost said to no one in particular, even as he ascended one more floor, to the seventh. No bodies. Well, maybe the eighth floor, just to be sure? His Guardian had to be here somewhere, after all!

Oh, who was he kidding.

He wavered in the air, high in the elevator shaft. Maybe he wasn’t going to find a Guardian. Maybe he was going to be stuck in some limbo of perpetually searching for something that’s always elsewhere, or doesn’t exist, or was destroyed a long time ago.

One body on the eighth floor. But instead of scanning it, the Ghost just stared. The ancient skeleton was sprawled out on the floor, near what might have been called a blanket, if one felt generous and loosened their definition of “blanket” quite a bit.

“Hey, you look pretty lonely.” The Ghost drifted closer to the old bones. “I bet you know a thing or two about loneliness. Up here, all alone, at the end of it all.”

Here he paused, glancing at the window; it was too dust-coated to see out of it. Then he looked up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time the massive hole and the dull gray clouds beyond. “You know what it’s like, don’t you?” The Ghost addressed the bones again, even as he looked skyward. “Being lonely. It wears you down slowly, like you’re a…a…a river stone.” He swiveled his eye around to look back at the bones, right at the skull. “Until you’re worn smooth, and everything just washes over you like a…a river.” Another pause. “…Or a Ghost who’s really bad at metaphors.”

The bones did not answer. How could they? Yet, the Ghost continued. “I’m a Ghost,” he said with a forced perkiness. “That means I was made from the Traveler’s Light, to find and help Guardians like you!” He held that upbeat demeanor for several seconds, before dipping a bit lower, all his points drooping downward. “…I’ve been practicing that for hundreds of years. It’s for when I find my Guardian. If I ever find my Guardian.”

There was only silence, dragging on and on, like the universe itself would only ever answer him in never-ending ellipses.

“…What am I doing?” The Ghost looked down at the floor. “I’m talking to a corpse. An actual, honest to goodness, dead, non-sapient corpse.” He turned to float away, but stopped himself. “…But just in case you can hear me somehow, thanks. For listening.”

He turned away again, but something kept him from leaving, nagging at the back of his mind. Shouldn’t he…scan this corpse?

He knew he’d only be disappointed. He could feel that creeping dread, the kind that came before every dead end he’d ever hit in his search. But if he just aired a bunch of feelings to this dead person, shouldn’t he at least know who he was talking to? Shouldn’t he at least grant the poor bones that one decency?

Mustering his will, he spun back around to face the bones, his eye flickering as he did a routine scan.

One body on the eighth floor. None of the results made sense.

He scanned a second time. A third time. He even went back down to the third floor–no, none of them would do, and yes, everything was working correctly.

Back to the eighth floor. Another scan. He felt like he’d been hit, shook, shocked. System damage? No, just hope.

Just hope.

And the end of the long, lonely search.


	2. Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost gets it together and actually revives his new Guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in the Age of Triumph, immediately after Yorick.

The Ghost quivered midair, barely containing his excitement, as he parsed the results of the last scan. Human, male. Blonde, tall, broad-shouldered, strong jawline. Like a gallant knight, or a paladin from an Old Earth pen-and-paper game. Like a Titan! Oh, the Light hummed in just the right way for it, too!

The scan results also returned less-uplifting data. Died in the early Dark Age, a time of newly-broken scavengers and empty cities that still gleamed in the sunlight. Hunger. Dehydration. Stress. Hypothermia. The sorry scrap of cloth beside the skeleton took on a new significance with that last discovery. Maybe he really was lonely, at the end of it all. The thought tempered the Ghost’s enthusiasm, but only momentarily.

Try as he might to give the moment the gravity it deserved, there was a pull on his thoughts and on his Light. It wasn’t a hungry malice, though, not like the horror stories he’d heard of Light-eating monstrosities. It was more like desperate, fumbling fingers. Cold, in the same way that drives someone to a fire’s side in the dead of winter. New, yet oddly familiar, like some part of him already knew the man, knew he was reaching out, knew he wanted to be ignited.

The Light began to flow.

Pick up the bones, stand them upright. Wrap them in meat and muscle, thick and scrappy, as befitting a Titan. Cloak them in skin, to keep them safe. Perforate them with nerves. Let the brain tissue bloom within the skull. Restore the hair, the blue eyes, the blunted fingernails, the calloused hands and feet.

The old scars won’t be missed. They don’t need to be reproduced. Malnourishment has no place here; erase that, too–and look, now he stands even taller! But this work is not finished, not yet.

Reach into the surrounding matter. Soak up the dust and debris. Twist the atoms, reforge the molecular bonds. Suffuse it all with Light. Carefully fit the Lightmail to the new frame.

And now, the hardest part: to give him space, and let him breathe–

 

The bright blue glow that had engulfed the room faded as the Ghost pulled his nodes back in. It felt so long and profound, but it took only seconds.

But there he was. There he was, standing upright, back turned, looking down at his hands as if seeing himself for the first time. In a very real sense, he was.

What to say? How to introduce himself? Despite having practiced his introduction for hundreds of years, the Ghost found himself drawing a blank. Was this real? Did he do everything right? What did they do now? What would his Guardian think? Right, he had a Guardian now! What would he be like? A paladin, right? Or was he just projecting?

Seconds dragged by before the Ghost finally resolved to say something. He straightened his nodes, transmatted away some lingering dust, and forced out the first words that came to him: “You’re here!”

“Gaaaah!” His Guardian jolted, surprised. Operating on instinct, he pivoted around on the ball of his foot, sending his right hand sailing toward–

**Crack!**

The Ghost recoiled back, blinking a few times. Something had impacted his front. Damage was negligible, but what happened?

His Guardian was in a stance resembling a cornered animal, fists raised and wide eyes locked on him.

“…Did you just punch me?” He couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice.

“Quoi?”

“Why would you punch me?” He understood the French easily (his Guardian speaks French?), but he was too stunned to reply in kind. “Why…?”

His Guardian answered, even more confused than he was: “Qu–what? What ARE you?”

“I’m a Ghost,” he offered lamely. “Your Ghost. I’m…here to help you. I thought you wanted to be here, and….”

The new Guardian’s eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head to the side. “Ghost,” he echoed, as if trying the word. After mulling it over a moment, he relaxed his stance. “Alright. Ghost, where are we?”

“This is the EDZ…the European Dead Zone, that is,” the Ghost replied, fumbling as he tried to recover from the abrupt change in subject. “We’re near the western edge, on the eighth floor of an old hotel. This is where I found you.”

“Found me? What was I doing?”

The Ghost blinked. “…You were dead.”

“Were?” The Guardian paused to parse the word. “…Was. So now I’m not?”

“Right! You were brought back to help the Traveler…well, it’s really hurt right now, and it needs all the help it can get! I thought you might help, since you wanted to come back…if you did want to come back….”

The Guardian’s eyebrows shot straight up. “I don’t know what that is, but okay.”

“You don’t kn–?!” The Ghost’s rear nodes did a full rotation, but he forced himself to calm down before speaking again. “…We really need to get you to the City. There are people there who can explain everything.”

“How do we get there?”

“It’s a long walk, and there are probably a lot of Fallen between there and here. We might be better off finding a way to contact them and ask for extraction.”

“Ex-uh-what?”

“A ride.” The Ghost looked toward the lone window in the room. It had been caked in dust previously, but the dust–and the glass underneath–had been sucked up during the Lightmail crafting process, leaving nothing but empty panes. “Once we’re there, we can get you a room, some food, training, and answers. It’s a good thing you know some English; that makes things easier.”

The new Guardian folded his arms and pouted. “My English is fine. You just startled me, that’s all.”

The Ghost swiveled around in the air to face him. “I….” He was about to apologize, but something about the way his Guardian’s mouth twisted off to the side struck him as less of a real pout and more of a cartoonish approximation of one. “…Eheh.” Oh no, now he’d chuckled. He wasn’t supposed to find that funny!

Except, he was, if his Guardian’s reaction was any indication. The comical pout gave way to a genuine, easy smile. “Sorry for hitting you. I didn’t know you were a friend.”

Friend. He felt so much lighter at that. “It’s okay. I understand.” A pause. “…It’s nice to meet you.”

The easy smile widened into a grin.


	3. Inexorably Drawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Guardian and his Ghost reach the City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a set schedule for chapter updates. I'm just pushing them out whenever my fic is pushed too far down the front page for my liking. This will probably continue until it's all caught up with the fics on Tumblr.

For those first two furtive days, Ghost and Guardian picked through the shell of the city. It was a study in contrasts, vibrant with chipped paint and rampant vines outside, drab and dusty inside. The Fallen were conspicuously absent. At first, it was a blessing; the Guardian hadn't been able to find any weapon other than a sturdy length of rusted pipe. But no Fallen meant no supplies to scavenge.

It was the third day, and they had found an old, dilapidated music radio setup on the top floor of a skyscraper. The Ghost was hard at work doing his best to get it up and running again while his Guardian slumped against the wall and watched.

His Guardian looked so powerful and heroic when he was first revived. Now he was tired and disheveled, with parched lips and an empty stomach. It reminded the Ghost a little too much of the scan results from the old bones that held his Guardian's spark. Hunger. Dehydration. Stress. Hypothermia.

Their situation was far from hopeless; the Ghost knew that whenever food and water were scarce, some Guardians would just end it quickly and stand by for resurrection. Still, his Guardian was new, and both suicide and starvation seemed unreasonably cruel. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"...Light?" his Guardian asked out of nowhere. His voice was hoarse with thirst.

The Ghost ascended out of a bed of wires. "What about the Light?"

The Guardian frowned to himself as he thought. "No...Torch?"

The Ghost blinked, not sure what to make of the question.

"Sorry, what are you again?" His Guardian looked up at him, embarrassed.

"I'm your Ghost," he replied gently. Then, after a pause, he added, "You can call me Torch if you want."

"If I keep forgetting the word 'Ghost', I might." His Guardian mustered a smile. "How is the work? Coming along, I mean. How is the work coming along?"

"Pretty well. I think I might be able to make a call to the Tower with this."

The Guardian hauled himself up off the floor to get a closer look as the Ghost made a few final adjustments. There was the distinct sound of electrical sparks, before the radio erupted into static, causing him to jolt with surprise. "Hey, it works! You got it working! ...What now?" He looked to the Ghost helplessly.

"Uh...hang on." The Ghost drifted closer to the remnants of a connected mic setup that hissed with static. "Come in, Tower. This is a Ghost. I have a newly-raised Guardian with me, only a few days old. We need extraction. Tower, do you read?"

There was only a hiss of static in reply. The Guardian leaned in toward the old mic to try his luck. "Hello?" he asked, voice laced with anxiety. "Is anyone there? Tower?"

"Let me try...." The Ghost dove back into the wires and out of sight. The Guardian could only see a few flickers of blue light, the static changing in volume and pitch for several nerve-wracking moments.

Then, without warning, the static abruptly gave way to a clear voice: "--breaking up. Who is this?"

"H-hello!" The Guardian bent over the mic again, wide-eyed with a sudden surge of hope. "Hello? Is this the Tower? I'm...new."

"New?" The voice on the other end sounded intrigued. "What is your name?"

"I...." The Guardian trailed off a moment. "My...Torch? No, my...Ghost. He said I was a Guardian. I'm new. Am...am I supposed to have a name? Because I don't know it."

When the voice replied, it was reassuring. "We can worry about that later. Where are you, Guardian?"

"City ruins. My Ghost called it the western EDZ. He says there used to be a lot of Fallen here, but they're all gone now. We're pretty high up, in a room with lots of old radio equipment, if that helps."

"Is your Ghost with you? Have him send me your coordinates."

The Guardian waved his Ghost over, who proceeded to recite a long string of numbers and letters that made utterly no sense to him.

"Good. I need you to stay there. I'm sending another Guardian to bring you home safe."

Wide-eyed, the Guardian pulled back from the mic long enough to look at his Ghost with a mix of nerves and hope, before leaning in to speak again. "Thank you! I'll stay right here! Thank you!"

"We'll meet soon. Zavala out." The static returned.

The Guardian looked to his Ghost, confused. "What's a Zavala and how do I have it out?"

The Ghost paused, caught off-guard. "...That was his name. You were talking to Commander Zavala. He was just signing off of the radio."

"Oh. Ohhhhhhh." The Guardian nodded as he absorbed this new knowledge. "He seemed nice."

"Zavala is the Titan Vanguard representative. Since you're a Titan yourself, you're going to be seeing a lot of him."

"Just how much of him is 'a lot'?"

"I meant, you...." The Ghost trailed off, noticing his Guardian's smile. "...Oh. You were trying to make a joke."

"We'll get our senses of humor lined up at some point, Torch. Ghost. That."

The Ghost's front nodes moved a little farther apart, as if he was peering curiously. "Where did 'Torch' come from, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You make it easier to see in dark places," said the Guardian. "And it sounds better than 'Flashlight'."

The Ghost couldn't help but laugh at that. "It does sound better. Am I 'Torch', then?"

"Do you want to be Torch?"

Did he want to be Torch? What kind of question was that? It was short, snappy, and his Guardian had come up with the name. Of course he wanted it! He moved upwards in the air about half a foot, gleeful. "You know what? Sure! From now on, my name is Torch!"

The Guardian grinned, though it soon faltered. "Now I just need a name for myself."

"You have time. There's no rush." The Ghost--now Torch--dipped back down to just below his Guardian's eye level.

"It feels like I should get one, though." The Guardian backed up into the wall and slumped against it again.

"If you want, once we get to the City, we can look through a bunch of name databases."

"Can we?" He looked up, once again hopeful. "And you'll help, right? I did get to name you, after all."

"I would be honored, Guardian."

 

They talked for hours, though as thirst took its toll on the Guardian, the conversation became increasingly one-sided. Torch was beginning to feel the pangs of worry again when their conversation was interrupted by the low whoosh of a ship overhead.

"That might be our ride," he explained when his Guardian gave him a worried look. The worry was banished almost immediately. "Come on. We should go meet them."

Their ride was a female Titan in thick, polished armor that Torch's Guardian was immediately enamored with. Despite his thirst, he managed to croak out question after question, even as he was herded onto her ship. On the flight to the Tower, she humored him, and even offered him a drink from a field canteen. While she was disciplined and patient, Torch couldn't shake the feeling that she was bummed about the absence of Fallen to shoot at, and really just wanted this errand to be over.

When the Guardian was ushered out of the ship, it was into an unfamiliar mess of metal platforms. He passed more ships, and more people than he ever expected to be in one place, most of them in armor. He still had plenty of questions, but their escort's patience had nearly run out, so it fell to Torch to answer them. Titan, Hunter, and Warlock. Human, Awoken, and Exo. Guardians and civilians. The frames that maintained the Tower. Yes, this was the Tower's hangar. A hangar is somewhere ships are stored.

They exited the hangar through a short corridor into an outdoor plaza. The sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery hues. The air was heady with the scent of foliage and, not too far away, hot food. The young Guardian saw a new person in combat gear every direction he turned his head. His questions abruptly stopped when he saw the great white sphere hanging in the sky, however; instead, he just stared at it, transfixed.

Torch noted their escort heading down a staircase in the middle of the plaza, in the direction of the Vanguard's command room, leaving them behind. He was debating whether to say anything when he noticed his Guardian was on the move.

The unnamed Guardian walked toward the great white object floating above the City. His eyes were wide and shining, his steps slow and trancelike. He only stopped when he bumped into the railing at the very edge of the Plaza. When he could go no further, he reached a hand up toward it....

"There you are." Torch spun to see someone else had come up the steps, a blue-skinned man in red and white armor, speaking with the same voice that had answered the radio earlier. His bearing was stern, yet approachable, and his attention was fixed on the new Guardian. "Welcome to the--" He abruptly cut himself off, his expression morphing into one of moderate surprise.

Torch turned just in time to see his Guardian reach too far and topple over the railing with a startled cry.

He immediately darted out over the edge, but his Guardian fell so fast, and what could he possibly do? Two agonizing seconds later, there was nothing but a bloody spat on the ground.

And there were eyes on him. "What was that?"

Torch spun around. "He...he was staring at the Traveler, Commander. I think he was trying to reach for it?"

Commander Zavala looked up at the Traveler meditatively. "...Bring him back, Ghost. We have a lot of work to do."


	4. You Must Name Your Character Before Continuing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Guardian gets his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still back in the Age of Triumph, and will be for a while yet. You'll know when we hit Destiny 2-era. ;)
> 
> Today, we learn why the fic is called The Reynaulthology.
> 
> Not Today: The Commander Zavala vs Shin Malphur 1v1 match.

"Here. We can start with this list." Three columns of names flickered onto the terminal screen. The scrollbar on the far right side was a barely-visible sliver. "You don't have to pick from this, of course. If you think of something you like better, you can use it."

His Guardian sat up on his bed with a groan of protest, blonde hair already a mess from burrowing into the pillows and cocooning himself in the blankets. Not that Torch could blame him. It was his first time out of armor with a safe place to sleep. He had been running around the Tower all day, and the only time he wasn't asking questions was when he was expressing an almost childlike wonder over his first meal, a bowl of minestrone.

Even so, his Guardian shuffled to the terminal, one thick blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. After a few bleary blinks, he looked to Torch. "That's a lot of names."

"There's more. Scroll down."

Torch had to show him how, but once he figured it out, he began scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. His eyes bulged. "Is this every name there is???"

"Oh, no. Not at all. That's just what I picked to start with."

His Guardian turned to gape at him in shock.

"...If you'd rather do this some other time, I understand. There's no rush."

The Guardian closed his mouth and looked back toward the screen. After a moment of consideration, he moved the terminal cursor over one of the names. "How do you pronounce this one? Aiden?"

"That's right."

The cursor moved to another name. "And this?"

"Alain."

They continued through the list for several hours in a similar fashion, pausing every once in a while so the Guardian could ask further questions, sometimes about the names and sometimes about the Tower. He was quiet and subdued, in sharp contrast to his earlier exuberance.

Despite his obvious exhaustion, it took Torch several gentle suggestions to rouse him enough to take the few steps he needed to get to his bed.

 

"Gauthier?" Torch read off the list.

The Guardian looked up from a stack of armor diagrams. "Hm?"

"For a name. Gauthier."

A thoughtful noise, then a shake of his head. "I don't like that one."

"Alright. What about--"

"Torch, if we go through the 'G' names right now, I might mess up and start calling myself 'Gardbrace'."

Torch laughed. "Do you want to be 'Gardbrace'?"

His Guardian looked him dead in the eye. "Absolutely. I want to be attached to the strong arms of a mighty Titan. I'll just hang out there forever. It's 'hang out', right?"

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing again.

"But, Torch! You saw all this cool stuff about armor, right?"

"I did." Torch drifted away from the terminal. "You've really taken an interest in armor, haven't you."

"It's cool!" His Guardian pulled one random schematic from the stack. "Here, see? This one is about..." He paused to glance at it. "...Helmets. Look at all the layers in helmets! There's the outer shell, then the impact ab...absorption? I think that's how you pronounce it. Then there's the electronics layer, and that's just full of stuff! Monitors, comms, a camera...."

Torch listened as he went on and on about everything he'd learned about armor in the past week. When his enthusiastic chatter slowed down, the Ghost offered a suggestion: "You know, there are Titans who make armor for other Titans."

The effect was instantaneous; the blue eyes brightened, the excitement returned. "...That's me. I'm going to do that."

When he reported to his training the next day, it was the first question out of his mouth.

 

Tonight, the Guardian lay on his back, one hand stretched up toward the ceiling as if he was inspecting it. He was tired, but satisfied.

Today was a milestone for him. Today, for the first time, he'd harnessed his inner Light and thrown a ball of lightning from his hand, making it explode in a blinding flash.

"We should celebrate," Torch suggested. The Guardian just grunted in response, lowering his hand and staring at the ceiling.

Once he slowed down for the evening, he didn't want to do much. He was slow to get up most mornings, too. He was anything but lazy, though; once he was up and active, he was in motion nearly all day. A Titan in motion stays in motion, Torch mused, and a Titan at rest stays at rest. Suddenly the predisposition toward the arc lightning of a Striker made a lot more sense.

"Torch?" His Guardian's eyes were on him now. "Can you read off some more names?"

He was surprised by the request, but more than happy to oblige. "That's a good way to celebrate. Let's see...." There were a few mechanical chirps as he pulled the list out of his memory; there wasn't much point in firing up the terminal right now. "We left off on...Michael?"

 

"Saren."

The Guardian paused between bites of his sandwich. "Nah." Since his revival over a month ago, he was much more comfortable with English.

"Alright, how about...."

"I heard 'Shin' earlier today. That's a nice name." The Guardian punctuated his statement with another bite.

Torch blinked. "I think that name's taken."

"By who?"

"By...Shin."

"Who's Shin?

"Shin Malphur is the renegade Hunter who defeated the notorious Dredgen Yor," Torch explained.

The Guardian paused to swallow another bite. "Mm. Okay."

"Anyway, next on the list...."

"I bet the Commander could take him in a fight," said the Guardian to no one in particular. "The Commander is so cool."

Torch's rear nodes twitched. "Why would they fight???"

"I don't know. That Shaxx guy is always telling people to fight, right?"

Torch tried to make a sound of exasperation, but he couldn't hide his amusement.

 

Tomorrow, the Guardian would follow a senior Titan into the field on his first patrol. For now, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He was nervous. No, not just nervous. Something was eating at him.

Finally, he peeked out from under the blankets over his head. "Torch?"

Torch drifted over, his lone blue eye bright against the darkness. "Guardian?"

"Do you think I'll do well tomorrow?"

"Yes, Guardian," he replied gently. "I think you will."

The Guardian heaved a sigh and said nothing.

"...Is something wrong?" Torch pried.

"It's nothing."

That was a lie. He could tell that was a lie. "Are you sure? Whatever it is, I'll listen."

The Guardian was quiet for a moment. "...Does it normally take this long to pick a name?"

He genuinely didn't know how to respond to that question. "You're fine, Guardian. Don't worry about it."

"I don't feel fine."

"You are fine! Here, I can pull up the names you really liked. We narrowed it down to just a few, remember?"

His Guardian heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, but he was no closer to sleep.

A new feeling welled up in Torch then, arguably one worse than the pangs of worry he felt while trying to guide his Guardian to the Tower. It was sorrow, frustration, helplessness--his Guardian was suffering, and he didn't know what to do....

"Balian," Torch began. "Bedivere. Gawain. Godfrey." He did his best to keep his voice steady, but it was hard. "Philip. Raynald. Reginald. Tristan. William. See? It's a short list! You almost have it!"

"You pick one."

"I like them all, Guardian! I can't pick!"

His Guardian opened his eyes. "...Go down the list again?"

"Balian. Bedivere. Gawain. Godfrey. Philip. Raynald--"

"That," the Guardian interrupted. "It's not quite...there. But it's close."

Progress. "Raynald? Renauld? Reynold? Renault?"

"I like the 'T' sound," his Guardian mumbled.

Torch drifted a bit closer. "Renault. Raynalt. Reynolt."

"Reynault." A small smile tugged on his lips as he lifted his eyes to meet Torch's. Then it dawned on him that he'd just named himself, and his smile grew. "My name is Reynault. Okay?"

Just like that, the helpless feeling was gone. Torch lowered himself down to his Guardian's eye level. "Okay...Reynault."

"Okay." Reynault reached out a hand from under the blankets and, much to Torch's surprise, affectionately pet one of his nodes with a single finger, as if the Ghost were some small fuzzy animal. "Thanks, Torch."

"...Of course, Reynault."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're curious, all of the names on Torch's final list come from either the Crusades or Arthurian legend. Our Titan's got a sort of fairytale knight aesthetic going.
> 
> Speaking of what's in a name, our Titan isn't actually named after a Crusader...at least, not directly. He's named in honor of a Darkest Dungeon character, who was in turn named for a real-life Crusader from France.


	5. Bar Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reynault makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> intoducing, the new friend............ GEROMY, I mean, SAMSID.
> 
> As for the bar song lyrics, that's pulled directly from one of the songs you can get from poking at the juke box in the first Destiny.

It was during the period the Guardians called the Age of Triumph, so full of hope and hubris.

In the Cosmodrome--then, all but captured for the City--were a few places where enemies still congregated and tensions still flared between them. This was one of those places. Hive streamed out of the caverns they'd dug under the earth. Inside the shells of Golden Age buildings, the Fallen rallied and picked them off. Crashing into both sides like a ravenous tidal wave were the Taken, directionless since the death of Oryx. Not that he remembered that at the time; he was only raised after the Taken War was already over.

The novice Titan had died four times in the last ten minutes, and it was starting to get exasperating. This time he kept a bit of distance as he watched the battle, racking his brain for some way to fight through them. He paced back and forth like a frustrated predator, arc light tingling along his skin like static. Or maybe it really was static. Right before his last death, he'd attempted a Fist of Havoc, only to punch the ground ineffectually and promptly get swarmed by irate Thralls. It's probably static.

The gentle voice of his Ghost murmured inside his helmet: "You could always go around them." He immediately stopped his pacing, struck by the novel idea and feeling rather silly that he hadn't come up with something so simple. After a moment of awkward silence, lingering at the edge of a heated firefight, he was about to find his voice when--

\--a sparrow roared over his head, its Hunter driver leaping off in a flourish of brown and silver--

\--and then he was gone. The sparrow clonked ineffectually against the side of one of the many derelict structures covered in Old Russian letters.

Despite the sparrow's presence, the Titan wasn't entirely sure its driver had been real. "What was that?" he asked of no one in particular.

"Getting out of a bad situation." Before he could react, a hand clapped him on his back, making him jolt. The Hunter reappeared, speaking in a gruff male voice, craning his neck to get a good look at the Titan. "Good skill to have. Heading my way, Kinderguardian?"

"Why does everyone call me that?"

"You're listless like one."

"Ugh. Fine. Yes, I'm trying to get past these..." The conversation paused at the sound of the Hunter's sparrow exploding. "...These."

"Then c'mon." The Hunter brandished a scout rifle, an older but well-kept Jigoku, and looked down the sights. "I'll cover you. Give 'em hell."

"We could just go around them," the Titan offered, echoing his Ghost's earlier advice.

The Hunter lowered his gun and stared back, struck by the novel idea and feeling rather silly that he hadn't come up with something so simple. After a moment of awkward silence, lingering at the edge of a heated firefight, the Titan summoned his sparrow and the Hunter leapt on behind him. Together, they skirted around the edge of the battle, before slipping past and rumbling off down a snow-covered road.

"Couldn't you just resummon your sparrow?" asked the Titan.

"Could. But you don't get a free ride every day. Name's Samsid, by the way. You?"

The Titan paused. "...Rrrrreynault. I'm Reynault."

Reynault could feel Samsid's scrutinizing gaze on his back. "...Traveler's knickers, how green are you?"

"Green? I'm not green! I'm human!"

Samsid paused, clearly not expecting that response. When he spoke, his voice was laced with mirth: "I mean, how recently did your Ghost first scrape you up?"

"Two months ago. Why do you ask?"

"Curious. You get to pick your name?"

"Yeah. Didn't you?" Reynault briefly looked back at his passenger.

"Kind of. Long story about backwards names and mistaken identities."

"That is a joke. You are joking."

"Wish I was."

Reynault did a doubletake, his sparrow slowing down a bit as he did.

Samsid shrugged. "Cayde's dumb," he said, as if that explained everything.

It didn't, but it did get a full-bodied laugh from Reynault as he shifted his focus back to the road. "Oh, mon Voyageur. He can be a bit...a bit...a lot? A bit of a lot."

"A bit much?" Samsid offered.

"A bit much! That's the phrase. He...wait, don't you report to him?"

"Yeah. Still dumb."

Reynault made some noise between a chuckle and a sigh. "Fine. I don't think the Traveler has knickers, though."

"How do you know? You an expert on giant space gods or somethin'?"

Another chuckle. "No, but--"

"You a Warlock now?"

Reynault decided to play along. "I'm actually three Warlocks inside a suit of armor."

"How's that work?"

"Well, one Warlock rubs the other two together until their robes get all static-y, right? Then the first Warlock punches something, and it looks like arc lightning coming out."  
Samsid cracked up, gripping Reynault's pauldron with one firm hand as he doubles over with laughter. "Hoooooo, good one! I like you, Rey."

"Rey???"

"You. You one of those full-name guys?"

"I...don't know?"

"Look. Rey." Samsid pulled one hand off Reynault's pauldron, only to replace it with the other hand. "You gotta establish your nickname policy up top. Get it out of the way and settled. Else, it's gonna get wild. Go to uncomfortable places, Rey."

"What...."

"Reyn. Rey-rey. Nault. Reysin. The Juggernault."

"Stop."

"Reyn in Spain stays mainly on the plain--"

"STOP."

Much to Reynault's surprise, Samsid fell quiet. They drove on for a full minute in an uncomfortable silence, as the road took them past old, rusting structures looming silently overhead. "...Isn't Rey the Warlock Vanguard?"

"Ikora, yeah."

"Yeah. I know I said I was three Warlocks in a suit of armor, but not her."

"How's Reyn, then? With the N on the end?"

"Reyn is fine. Nault is fine. The rest are garbage."

"And that's the nickname policy covered. Pull over a sec."

Reynault slowed the sparrow to a stop amidst the dilapidated buildings. "What is it?"

"Got a target in there." Samsid slipped off the sparrow and drew his old Jigoku in one single, fluid motion, before he started meandering toward a dark, gaping doorway in one of the buildings. "Some Knight's mucking things up enough to make the Big Z want to show him a good time."

"Quoi????"

"The hell's a 'qwuh'?"

Reynault shook his head, mostly to himself. "I mean, what did you say? In English?"

"Ughhhhh." Samsid stopped in his tracks, not even bothering to turn around as he rests his scout rifle against one shoulder. "The Vanguard put a bounty on a Hive Knight, so now I'm going to go kill him. Traveler's pants, Nault, you even look at a patrol beacon before?"

"Of course I have!" Reynault puffed his chest out indignantly. "I have a bounty to...." He paused as his Ghost muttered the details of his until-now-forgotten mission inside his helmet. "...Kill Hive. Get their chitin armor. Dead Orbit."

Samsid pivoted on the ball of one foot to spin around and face Reynault. "We both need Hive. Headin' my way?"

After a second of processing, Reynault nodded. "You know what? I think I am."

Together, the two Guardians turned toward the yawning, dark doorway. They entered with little hesitation.

Inside the long-abandoned structure was a dim and dusty mess of corrugated metal walls, occasionally pocked with the telltale chitin of Hive bioarchitecture. Reynault's footsteps echoed around the metal maze; Samsid's were almost unnaturally silent.

When they heard the claw-scrabbling and screeches in the dark, when they saw the sickly green glow refracting around the corner, they simply looked to each other and nodded.

Reynault rounded the corner first, drawing his blocky, modest Häkke auto rifle and unloading on the first target he saw--a hapless Acolyte. "Haha! Hey, you three-eyed monsters! Nice day for it, huh?" From the direction of an old, broken Hive seeder, embedded within the otherwise dark, low-ceilinged room, came a shrieking chorus with a volley of return fire and a swarm of Thralls.

He ducked behind a square structural support pillar and let the Thralls come. The first leapt at him, eagerly trying to bring its claws down in a vertical swipe; he blocked it with his thick vambrace. The second made a horizontal swing while he was distracted, raking the side of his helmet. The third lunged low, sensing an opportunity, but by now the entire swarm was close enough. Reynault dropped his rifle for just the split second he needed to smash his fists downward. This time, it wasn't static, but a brilliant bloom of arc light--a textbook Fist of Havoc.

The Thralls vaporized, he retrieved his rifle and turned his attention back to the Acolytes, only to see more flashes of arc light. Samsid was in the thick of them, flickering in and out of sight to a staccato rhythm only he could hear. On every other beat, another Acolyte corpse spilled from behind a structural support, until the dance was done and Samsid fell back to his position.

"Fresh out of super. You?" Samsid didn't even sound winded.

"Same. What was that?"

"Never seen a Bladedancer dance? Traveler's 'stache, Nault."

"You keep naming these things the Traveler doesn't--" The banter was cut off by another shriek as a Knight lumbered out of the trashed Hive seeder, sword in hand.

Samsid raised his scout rifle again, looking down the sight. "That's our man."

Reynault didn't need to be told twice. With no hesitation, he did what any good Striker would do: charge in. He barreled past the supports, an indistinct battlecry in his throat. The Knight readied its sword, but at the last moment, Reynault pounced and wrapped both his arms around the thing's neck, barely holding on to his auto rifle with one hand.

Samsid lowered his gun and stared, flabbergasted, as the Titan swung onto the monstrosity’s back and hung on for dear life as it tried in vain to shake him off, reach around and grab him, or anything. He continued to stare when Reynault got gutsy and tried to wriggle his auto rifle around so the barrel was pointed at the Knight. He continued to stare when the auto rifle went off, a little too early, and the Knight staggered back into a pillar. When he asked, his Ghost informed him the whole thing lasted about twelve seconds. He was impressed.

He raised his scout rifle again, just in time to see the exhausted Knight bring its sword down on the prone Reynault with a bone-shattering crack. There was a second crack barely a heartbeat later, and the Knight fell backwards, dead.

Silence. Stillness. Then, the gentle blue glow of a Ghost resurrecting its charge. Reynault hauled himself back to his feet.

Samsid strode over the carnage toward his new friend, glee in his voice. "I'm buying you a round later. You drink?"

"Quoi?" Reynault looked at him, then down at the Knight, then back up at him. "...Oh, you mean alcohol? Yeah, I drink. Wait, you're buying?"

"You rode that thing like a mechanical bull! 'Course I'm buying!"

"Like a what?"

"I'll show you a vid later. Got all the Hive parts you need?"

"I think so...." Reynault looked to his right, probably still expecting his Ghost to be out. "...Yeah. Yeah, I have enough."

"Great. Let's." Samsid spun on his heel and started leading the way back outside.

He wasn't going to come out and say it, but no one had ever bought Reynault a drink before. He hadn't really made any close friends yet, not among the other Guardians. Now one was offering to go drinking with him. How could he say no?

 

Samsid was human, too, all bone and sinew, with short, deep brown hair and sunken eyes that could all too easily be hidden by the shadow of his pronounced brow. He clashed with Reynault's blonde hair, broad shoulders, and open, youthful face. But the way they laughed over their drinks that night, no one would have guessed they had met earlier that same day.

At closing time, they staggered out into the streets of the Last City, one arm around each other's shoulders as they swayed drunkenly.

"You, you're a good one," Samsid slurred. "Good pal. Nault."

Reynault looked his way with a stupid grin. "Yeah, Sam?"

"I'll show you 'round the Tower. I mean the real tour. Not the...the...the Vanny-guardy one. The real tour."

"There's a real tour? Why didn't I get that?"

"Vammaguard gotta look good." Samsid snickered. "Vammaguard. Vangeeerrrrrrd."

"Vargardarar?" Reynault offered.

"Yeah, them guys!"

Reynault broke into a full on laugh. "My English is better than that!"

"Pah. You'll get as bad as me. You wait." Samsid gestured at nothing in particular with his free hand. "Better hope you don't...get that bad. Yeah."

"Hope shines brightest in the dark," Reynault replied with a shit-eating grin.

Samsid tried to muster a dirty look, but couldn't quite do it. "Don't you quote random bar song lyrics at me."

Reynault replied by throwing his head back and breaking out into joyful, drunken song. "Hope shines brightest! In the dark! Where nothing's ever seen!"

After a bout of laughter, Samsid joined in. Together, they shambled down the street. The night was clear. The air was crisp and cool. Above them, the Traveler hung in the air, the city lights dancing across its surface, helping it shine against the dark.


	6. Nice Griffon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reynault does something stupid. Torch shows some solidarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic contains asses. Nothing lewd, but here there be butts. You've been warned.

The man behind the counter was this tall, dark-eyed figure with a weather-worn face and so many tattoos it was hard to see his Warlock's bond. Reynault hardly noticed him, but I did. I did, and the first thing I thought was that my Guardian was about to make a horrible mistake.

Reynault pointed at a picture in a book on the counter. I say pointed, but it was somewhere between a point and pounding his fist on the table. There was that audible thunk that made my rear nodes do a whole quarter-turn.

"What's this?" he asked.

"A griffon," said the Warlock.

Reynault pounded the book again. "I like this. Can I get this?" He gave the book two more, gentler taps, as he looked up at the ceiling in that way he always does when he's drunk and waiting for his mind to catch up. "Just...I dunno. Just put a big ol' griffon on my ass. Yeah. Do that. Just, like, all over one ass cheek."

"There's Light in this ink," the Warlock warned. He had that tone of voice that was more like he was required to say it, not someone who was actually trying to warn off anyone. "It's not gonna come off with your next resurrection."

"Yeah." Reynault nodded several times. "Yeah, I'm down."

I'd tried to warn him before going in, I really did. But Titans can be determined, alcohol is a hell of a drug, and if there's just one word to describe my Guardian, it's inertia. Once he gets something in his head, it's really hard to stop him.

Samsid put glimmer down on this happening, and he only makes sure bets. I guess that should've been my first warning. Trying to stop this was pointless, so the most I could do was make sure Reynault somehow didn't regret it.

"You waiting out here, Ghost?" The Warlock was talking to me now. I blanked for whole milliseconds before I came up with something.

"Do you do...paint jobs?" I blurted. It was the only thing I could come up with. Maybe if I got the same griffon on one of my nodes, I could be supportive and show some solidarity. Besides, I could always get it painted over, or get a new shell.

The Warlock nodded once, and my fate was sealed.

 

The next morning, Reynault woke up and then decided to spend two hours with the blankets over his head (there's that inertia again), until finally his biological processes forced him to get up and think about food.

"Torch, be honest with me," he grumbled out as he staggered to the mirror. "What happened last night, and why does my ass hurt?"

"You got a tattoo," I replied.

There was a brief delay as he reached the mirror and twisted around to get a good look at the griffon. "...C'est quoi ce bordel? What's this thing?" I could see the regret written all over his face. I knew it.

"A griffon," I offer, a bit more gently.

Reynault turned to look at me, really look at me, and his eyes immediately snapped to the new paint on my left front node. A full two seconds later, his face split into one of the biggest, brightest smiles I'd ever seen. It was his first-time-eating-a-warm-meal smile, his first-completed-set-of-fieldplate smile, the kind of smile you see on small children in the City.

It made me feel brighter, too, because to be honest, I wasn't expecting that kind of smile.

"Holy...!" He briefly covered his grin with both hands. "...You look great. Really great. I think you wear it better than I do." I just had to laugh at that, and he laughed too.

Then he sighed, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair, wobbling a bit from the hangover. "...Right. I'm grabbin' some food."

"Without pants?"

He melodramatically rolled his eyes and batted at me. "Uch. No, I'll get pants."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say about this one, just some character-building.
> 
> If you're enjoying the fic so far, please leave a comment! Actually hearing what you guys think means more to me than all the kudos in the world.


	7. Morte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Guardians talk about death. Things get silly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And introducing the new friends...Foxfire and Scheherazade-4!

"My first death?" Reynault looked up at the ceiling, careful not to jostle Torch, who was nestled in the crook of his neck. "It's not actually that interesting. I fell over the railing in the Tower plaza in front of Commander Zavala."

There were several snickers around the table. Samsid leaned across to rest his elbow on the dented wooden surface, a glass of whiskey in hand. "You call that not interesting?"

Reynault lowered his gaze to look at his friend. "Not really. I just fell off. I was too green to be embarrassed."

"Pah." Samsid shook his head. "Expected better from you, Nault. Foxy, what've you got?"

An Awoken woman with pale violet skin and hair pursed her lips, then summoned her best deadpan expression. "The first time I heard Reynault's weird Titan prayer, I offed myself."

"Hey!" Reynault folded his arms. "If that actually happened, I would've heard it!"

"Nuh-uh. I did it quietly."

"Samsid's the sneaky one, not you."

"I can't be sneaky, too? Why not?" Her deadpan was cracking, a smirk twitching on her lips.

"I find it telling that he doesn't defend his little pre-battle ritual," murmured a golden Exo woman in Warlock robes.

"It doesn't matter what you think of it," Reynault huffed. "It's just for me."

The Exo tilted her head, then redirected her attention to the other two, seemingly out of respect for his opinion. "Foxfire? Your real story?"

The Awoken woman pursed her lips again. "...Accidentally threw my Golden Gun at a Devils Captain. The good news is, I killed him. He just had lots of backup."

More chuckles around the table. "Really? What made you do that?" Samsid heckled. "It's a gun, not one of those weird returning sticks."

"Boomerang," the Exo corrected.

"Could've been worse," Reynault offered. "Could've been two Golden Guns."

Foxfire grinned. "If I figure out how to pull two consecutive Golden Guns out my ass, I think the Darkness has bigger problems. But hey, enough about me. Scheherazade!"

At her name, the Exo Warlock looked up, then folded her hands on the table. "Very well. I was around four days old and learning my way around the Tower. As I wandered, I spoke extensively with my Ghost--"

"Get to the good bits," Samsid interrupted. Foxfire huffed and Reynault rolled his eyes.

Scheherazade scowled."...Aasimar mentioned Guardians resurrecting upon death. After confirming this via observation of recreational tower-jumpers, I decided to test it for myself. I flung myself over the edge of the plaza."

"That plaza is a Kinderguardian-slayer," Reynault mused.

"Tower-jumping is a right of passage," Foxfire asserted. "Samsid, your turn."

Samsid swished his glass around, eyeing the whiskey within. "Misfire. Didn't put the safety on my hand cannon right. Shot myself in the leg. There's an important artery in there, y'know."

"Your Ghost didn't patch it up?" Scheherazade pried.

"Nah. I'd told Ante to scram so I could shower."

Foxfire leaned in. "So you were fucking around with a gun while butt-naked in your room? Smooth, Samsid. Real smooth."

"Smoother than Scherry's head," Samsid replied with a grin. Scheherazade self-consciously ran a hand over the top of her metal cranium.

Reynault looked up at the ceiling again for a moment, idly petting Torch with one finger. "Alright, those were the first deaths. What about the best deaths?"

"Leaping the Hellmouth," Samsid snapped without hesitation.

"Leaping the Hellmouth," agreed Foxfire.

Reynault nodded. "Definitely when we leapt the Hellmouth."

Scheherazade looked between the three of them like they had grown extra eyes. "...Why would you try to leap the Hellmouth?"

"Because it's there?" Foxfire scoffed. "What else do you do with a giant-ass hole in the moon? It was great. We all piled on one sparrow--"

"It was my sparrow," Reynault cut in. "Mine could take the most weight, since it was built to carry heavy Titan armor. We all piled on, ramped off this rock, right? So then I pushed off the sparrow with my boost, and that pushed them forward."

Samsid leaned over the table and picked up the tale. "Next, I got out my rocket launcher. Jumped off. Hit the sparrow in the back with two good volleys."

“And it didn’t blow up?” Scheherazade asked incredulously.

"But even with all the pushes forward," Foxfire continued, ignoring her question, "the sparrow was juuuuuust shy of the edge! So I took a leap of faith, and just barely touched down on the other side! The only problem was, by that point, I was moving forward so fast, I turned into a smear when I hit the ground."

Scheherazade looked between the three. "Congratulations on your...mastery of Newton's Third Law?"

"Whose law of what?" Reynault asked, immediately before Samsid scrambled onto the table to clap a hand over the Titan's mouth. Whiskey was knocked over, staining the long-suffering wood surface. Torch had to relinquish his perch on his Guardian's shoulder. It was a mess.

"Shhhhh!" Foxfire hissed. "Don't ask the Warlock about physics! We'll be here all night!"

"No, it's quite alright. I'll send him an article later," said Scheherazade with a devious glint in her eye.

Samsid shook his head mournfully. "Alas, poor Nault. We knew him well." He pointedly ignored Reynault's irate glare.


	8. 1 AM Tower Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two friends share a meal. Their discussions get weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying the ride, please leave a comment! It would mean a lot to me.
> 
> This chapter contains some more...well, I'd call it mature humor, but these Guardians aren't being very mature.

The door to the Tower dormitory room swung open slowly. Behind it was Samsid, in all his sinewy and sunken-eyed glory. He was still wearing his brown and silver Hunter’s cloak despite having shed the rest of his armor, leaving him in an undershirt and loose pants. “Well, hello there,” he purred as he leaned against the doorframe, half-lidded eyes glinting with suggestion. “You’re just in time.”

Reynault tugged on the collar of his own blue tunic, not entirely sure what had come over his friend. Before he could ask, though, Samsid slid by the massive Titan as if he wasn’t even there, locked onto the object of his affections….

“I’m a man with needs,” Samsid growled as he leaned dangerously close to Torch, Reynault’s hapless Ghost, who flinched back in surprise. “You got what it takes to satisfy me?”

The Ghost responded by ejecting a single slice of pizza from its storage, hitting Samsid in the face with a wet splat.

“Fuck yeah,” said the Hunter, all pretext of flirting gone.

“You could’ve just asked for the pizza,” Reynault grumbled. “Don’t do that to Torch. He doesn’t need that.”

“Just bring the pizza in, Nault. I got a few cold beers inside.” Samsid spun around in that smooth Bladedancer way of his and sauntered back into his room. “Comin’?”

Reynault didn’t move an inch, folding his meaty arms with an unusually severe frown instead. “No. You apologize to my Ghost. And pick up your slice.”

Samsid made a noise in the back of his throat like an irritated cat as he turned back around. “I’m sorry, Torch.” He pointedly ignored the pitiful slice of pizza on the ground. Still, Reynault seemed mollified by the apology, and picked it up himself on his way into the room.

This was an after-patrol ritual for the two Guardians: the sharing of a pizza in the dead of the night, while the City slept. They would drag out the bean bag chairs from under the bed and pass the pizza box between them, swapping stories and jokes while one of their Ghosts queued up a music playlist in the background.

“We should do that again,” Reynault mused between bites of cheese and grease. “With the Phalanx shields.”

“Yeah. Always fun to go sleddin’ down the Martian dunes.” Samsid glanced toward the window briefly, with all the City lights twinkling in it. “Shame ‘bout the Colossus at the end.”

“Eh, we’ll just sled on one of them next time.” Reynault grinned, and the two raised their slices in a toast.

Then Samsid’s smile fell. “Nault? Weird question.”

“Hm?”

“Ever think about before?”

Reynault furrowed his brow. “Before what?”

“Y’know. Before. Who we were before we died and our Ghosts found us.”

He looked up at the ceiling, mulling over the question. “...Not really.”

“Mm. Some people think about it when they’re still kinderguardians.” Samsid shrugged noncommittally.

“I’m not a kinderguardian anymore, Sam,” Reynault protested. “Besides...wherever I was, I’m probably doing a lot better here, right?”

“Mm. Maybe.”

“I think so.” Reynault nodded to himself.

Samsid hummed in response, then took a bite of pizza. “How’re you so sure?”

“Just….” He gestured to the window, to the Traveler hanging outside like a second moon. “This. All of it. It’s nice.”

“You ever think it’s because you don’t know any different?”

Reynault didn’t have an answer to that, so after an uncomfortable moment he shrugged and changed the topic. “Got a question for you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Got any big goals? Other than shooting the Darkness a bunch?”

Samsid stared out the window again, into the darkness between the lights. “...I wanna be a Nightstalker.”

“Really?”

“Been my dream ever since I first saw that bow. Someday, I’m gonna stare into the void and grab it. Just wait.”

“Huh.” Reynault grabbed a new slice of pizza. “I think you can do it. I might actually be good at armorsmithing by the time you do it, but I think you can.” He flashed his friend a warm grin.

A snicker. “Nault?”

“Sam.”

Samsid cocked a mischievous smile. “Where were you when you realized your Ghost made your dick?”

Reynault blinked back like a deer in the headlights.

“Think about it. He brought you back from an old corpse. Where else would your dick’ve come from?”

Reynault opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared at the wall in bug-eyed silence as the realization sank in. Felt his cheeks heat with a sudden self-consciousness.

Samsid’s smile widened in satisfaction. “There’s nothin’ more I can teach you. You’re a true Guardian now.”


	9. It's A Torch Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A joke is made about the names for Vex weaponry.

TYPE: Transcript.  
PARTIES: Two [2]. One [1] Ghost-type, designate [REDACTED] [u.1], One [1] Guardian-type, Class Titan [u.2]  
ASSOCIATIONS: Vex; [Vex] Armaments; Mars; Freehold; Reynault; Samsid; [Ghost] Armaments;  
//AUDIO UNAVAILABLE//  
//TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS.../

[u.1:0.1] You want me to WHAT?!  
[u.2:0.1] Use it!  
[u.1:0.2] I can’t!  
[u.2:0.2] Come on, it’s a Torch Hammer! You’re Torch! It’s your hammer!  
[u.1:0.3] That is not how that weapon works, in the least! That is not my anything!  
[u.2:0.3] Just try it.  
[u.1:0.4] I can send a request to Samsid to see if he’ll let me transmat it onto his ship.  
[u.2:0.4] No, just….  
[audible rustling and metal creaking]  
[u.2:0.5] Here, now hook yourself up to it.  
[u.1:0.5] Reynault, this is ridiculous.  
[u.2:0.6] Here!  
[u.1:0.6] I’m not hooking myself up to a Vex weapon!  
[u.2:0.7] You won’t even try?  
[u.1:0.7] That thing is huge, Reynault! I couldn’t carry it for long without stowing it! I’d be off-balance! Besides, I don’t want to interface with Vex technology any longer than necessary!  
[u.2:0.8] Why not?  
[u.1:0.8] It just...rubs me the wrong way. Like a door that doesn’t want to open.  
[u.2:0.9] Uh…?  
[u.1:0.9] It’s this horrible lump, this thing that bugs me to no end!  
[u.2:1.0] A thing that should not exist? Since you’re so good at opening doors and all.  
[u.1:1.0] I wouldn’t go quite that far….  
[u.2:1.1] Something that defies all logic? Something that’s always in your way?  
[u.1:1.1] Er…no, just...it just scares me. Vex technology scares me.  
[u.2:1.2] So you’re scared.  
[u.1:1.2] Yes.  
[u.2:1.3] And your metaphor was really unhelpful.  
[u.1:1.3] I know.  
[u.2:1.4] Why does it scare you?  
[u.1:1.4] The Vex have mastery over time. They’ve turned entire planets into machines. And the radiolaria fluid--the “milk”--I’ve heard what it can do.  
[u.2:1.5] Okay, what does it do?  
[u.1:1.5] It turns you into another Vex construct.  
[silence]  
[u.1:1.6] Reynault?  
[u.2:1.6] Vex milk turns you into Vex.  
[u.1:1.7] Something like that.  
[u.2:1.7] You’re just now telling me this?  
[u.2:1.8] You could’ve gotten hurt, Torch! I almost got you hurt!  
[u.1:1.8] I don’t think there’s any radiolaria fluid left on that weapon, Reynault.  
[u.2:1.9] So it’s safe to use?  
[u.1:1.9] I don’t want to hook myself up to it.  
[u.2:2.0] It’s safe to use, but you’re scared of using it because it might not be safe to use.  
[u.1:2.0] Please don’t make me wield that thing.  
[u.2:2.1] Fine. But now I really want to give you some sort of weapon.  
[u.1:2.1] Please don’t.  
[u.2:2.2] Why not?  
[u.1:2.2] If I’m ever in a situation where a weapon would benefit me, that would mean something’s happened to you.  
[u.2:2.3] But just in case, until I can get there and save you?  
[silence]  
[u.2:2.4] Torch?  
[silence]  
[u.1:2.3] I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever.  
[u.2:2.5] I can’t promise that, but I can promise I’ll bail you out of whatever you get yourself into.  
[u.1:2.4] You sound so certain that you can.  
[u.2:2.6] Of course I can. We should still get you something, though.  
[u.1:2.5] Please don’t.  
[u.2:2.7] Why not?  
[u.1:2.6] I’m...it scares me. The idea of fighting scares me. I don’t want to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, this ficlet went up here on AO3 before it appeared on Tumblr.
> 
> It's also pretty obvious I'm aping a lot of grimoire cards with this style. I think it works, though.


	10. Atop the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two friends make a bet. It ends about as well as could be expected.

It was a clear and balmy night. The City glittered with millions of lights and the Traveler shone like a pearl. On the other side of the Wall, trees stretched all the way to the mountains, gleaming with moonlight–or, perhaps, the light refracted off the Traveler’s shell. It was beautiful up here at night. Everything was luminous. With his home, safe and sound on one side of the Wall, and the serene, empty wilds on the other, there was a sense of calm, of security, of–

“Ugggggghhhh,” Samsid ugh’d.

Reynault looked back over his pauldron. “You’ve been dragging your feet all night, Sam! Come on!”

“Nothin’s happening, Nault,” the Hunter complained. “You said Wall duty was gonna be nice.”

“It IS nice! Look at all this!” The Titan spread his arms wide. “It’s beautiful!”

“It’s boring! If somethin’ doesn’t happen soon, I’m gonna cry of boredom!”

“What, do you want enemies to attack the City?”

Samsid folded his arms, wisely choosing not to answer.

Patrolling the top of the Wall was something Reynault did often, so often that he was starting to consider one little section homey and comfortable. He had spoken to Samsid about Wall patrol in the past, but his friend never had much opinion on it.

That was until a few days ago, when Reynault was shaping a sabaton in the novice smith’s forge while Samsid curled up on top of a cabinet like an ornery cat.

“I bet you couldn’t do Wall duty,” he’d said.

“Sure I could,” Samsid had replied. “Just don’t wanna.”

“Sure you don’t. Because you couldn’t do it.”

“Those are bettin’ words.”

Reynault had raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Twenty glimmer says you couldn’t make it through a full shift of Wall duty.” And Samsid had sat up straight, puffed out his chest….

And that’s why he was here, now, on top of the Wall with him, as miserable as Reynault thought he’d be. Yet he stayed. He was determined to stay. He was convinced that all this was worth twenty glimmer. Or maybe, he was convinced that he had to stay, or risk losing his reputation as the guy who always makes sure bets.

“You know,” Reynault teased, “you could always just pay me twenty glimmer and run off into your wilds again.”

Samsid’s face was obscured by his helmet, but the dirty look he gave the Titan was palpable.

With an armored shrug, Reynault turned back around and continued his patrol along the top of the Wall. If his friend wanted to be miserable, that’s not his problem. “We’ve got about two more miles to cover up here, then we’ll be done for the day. Want to grab some pizza?”

Silence.

“Sam?” Reynault looked back again, to find he was alone. On his helmet’s dispaly, Torch quietly notified him he’d received a payment of twenty glimmer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, we're gonna get into some meaty character development, and finally start to make the transition to Destiny 2. Get hype!


End file.
